Cassandra
10-22-2005, 08:22 AM
It is said, among those who know these things, and those who care, that bounty hunters are among the most depraved, yet oldest, professions in the world. They take the fight to the criminals, by using their tactics, and if you find a bounty hunter with a sense of honour, he was most likely going to die. It is also said, that most of the time the ones who play immorally get the guy, and the money. However, sometimes that is more difficult. How do you catch someone who can kill as many men as you send after them; who never leaves their real name, or even a constant pseudonym? How can you track someone who moves across the land like mist, or bring them in if you’re not even entirely sure what they look like, because all those who have seen them in any detail have died? And if you do manage to capture that elusive killer, can you find it in you to just let them go to the block or the swing, and not kill them right now because you know, deep in the bone, that if you give them even an inch, they’ll be free again, and all the deaths would be for nothing. What happens, in fact, when a bounty hunter stops thinking like a hunter, and starts thinking like the killer they are chasing? Can he afford to? A more chilling question, for an even smaller number of people in the know was this: can he afford not to?
***
Matthias watched the leaves of the dark trees around with an almost paranoid fascination, more or less because his life depended on it. The questions that that small number of people thought about weren’t racing through his mind. At least, not yet. Right here and now, he was trying to get through a lonely watch in the woods, without being surprised by an attack. A treacherous thought at the back of his mind informed him that he would be anyway, because he knew what he was following. All that was really known about him was what was picked up from looking over the corpses after he had finished with them, and distant glimpses as the hunters had run away. Most of the group, he reflected, looking around at the sleeping bodies, were hardened hunters, with plenty of successful contracts under their belt, but even they were nervous. It was the simple truth that no one had ever come back from chasing the Shadow, or if they did, it was only in pieces.
He shuddered, keeping his eyes moving in the way paranoia sometimes makes them, skittering from shadow to shadow, then to his men and the fire cheerily burning in the small ring of stones from the riverbed. He could hear the insects chirping in the foliage, and the grass underneath his pants was flat and slightly damp from the rainfall they had had. The faintest sound made him turn his head, hand reaching for his sword-hilt, but it was just Gunnar, moving in his sleep, arms clasped around his blanket as though it was a shield.
Matthias nodded slowly, and then looked over the other men. They were five in total, including Matthias. He smiled bitterly, the expression stretching his face unpleasantly, as he contemplated that the Shadow was much more likely to be brought down by an army, than by five men who had seen too many small battles, and too much bloodshed and dirty dealing to really see clearly when it came to criminals. Like hunters of animals, you learned how to predict the prey, how they thought. After a while, it was how you thought, as well, though without the criminal part, of course. Shadow didn’t think in the way they were used to – not at all. Where a normal criminal would go in and kill someone that needed killing, quick and clean, they wouldn’t then go back and kill some guards for sport, and then steal any valuables they could reach before leaving the scene and just disappearing. That was what the Shadow did. It never struck in quite the same way, and the only way you knew it was its work, was because of the way the guards tended to be killed. Not the target himself, of course, the Shadow had all sorts of interesting ways to kill its targets, but the guards were often found with either sword wounds or strange metal discs embedded in them. He had researched and bargained, and eventually found that they originated in Nippon, or was it Cathay? No matter, they were foreign, and that explained why the Shadow was so very difficult to predict.
Or so they'd thought, but then someone managed to get a look at the killer’s hand, and it had being white as any Reiksland folk, not at all like the Nipponese he had ever seen. So, they had reasoned, they would find the supplier, and cut the Shadow off from its favourite weapons.
Matthias’s smile twisted again as he remembered the fiasco. They had eventually found the man who had supplied the Shadow with the first few trinkets in exchange for his life. A small Nipponese man, he had being frightened and awed, but he had said that he had also given the Shadow the secret to making them. Dead end. Very dead, especially as the group only managed to report before they were cut down by some unseen hurricane of hatred. It was only later that they realised that the small Nipponese man had disappeared in the confusion. Make what you will of that, he had said to his men, and left it to stew in their minds.
A bird landed on a patch of grass a few metres away from him, and started to pick up a worm from the damp dark green, keeping a wary eye on the bounty hunter, while he kept an eye on it. It picked up the worm in its beak, and dropped it as it fluttered away in a flurry of panic and bestial fear.
A bolt streamed out of the darkness, straight and true, only a few inches away from Matthias’s left ear as he watched the night, faster than he could quite comprehend, and stuck into the tree behind him with a clunk. He paused for a second, thinking. The rumour was that the Shadow never missed. Which must mean that either the Shadow wanted to miss, or that it wasn’t the Shadow out there. Either of those was comforting, and he slowly walked over towards the bolt. As he had halfway been expecting, a roll of parchment was tied to it with black string. He sighed, untying it, and rolled it open, and saw the familiar symbols of Reikspiel. As a somewhat educated man, he could read, and he was sure that the Shadow knew that too. Casting a backward glance over his shoulder, he turned his attention to the words on the page, frowning and a slight green tinge flowing over his features as he read.
Hello Matthias,
You’re probably wondering how I know your name.
Some of your late friends told me about you.
Usually in the case of trying to threaten me with your retribution.
They say you’re the best.
Should I be honoured, or scared?
No matter what I should be, what I am, is angry.
You really should have taken the hint at the river, Matthias, and left me alone to do my job.
Now your foolishness is going to cost your little group their lives.
One by one.
I will leave the best for last, as is always the case, don’t you think?
One should ALWAYS leave the best for last.
It’s something to look forward to.
In this case, for the challenge.
They say you’re the best.
But I also hear what they say about me.
Tell you what, Matthias, just before I fight you, I will tell you all you want to know about me.
You’ll get to have all the pieces to the puzzles, all the answers.
Then, if you kill me, you can put me down in history in the way that actually is, rather than the rumours and stories I hear so often.
If I kill you, which I will of course, then my secret will be safe.
I’m watching you Matthias. You and Gunnar and Ferdinand and Bosch and Jurgen. One by one. Be seeing you.
There was no signature. He didn’t really expect one from the killer they had being trailing. He ran a finger over the words as he thought about the river, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils white with anger. They had being travelling over a bridge and had packhorses with them. They were also wearing backpacks too, but as the last horse had stood on the bridge, it had shuddered like the ground in an earthquake and collapsed into the seething river water. They hadn’t found the horses, or the packs. Matthias had a nasty suspicion they were with the Shadow’s camp, calmly waiting for the killer of their masters to feed them and look after them. He wondered idly what other tricks the assassin was going to use. By the look of the note, fear was one of them. It was sent for a specific purpose, to make the hunters afraid and paranoid. To make them angry, too. He raised an eyebrow wryly, wondering if the Shadow knew that merely the reputation the ethereal assassin had accumulated generated all those things in abundance.
He put a foot on the tree and pulled out the bolt with some difficulty, spraying Bosch with wood dust, and almost threw it in the bushes surrounding the small clearing, before rethinking and putting it in his own crossbow bolt stack. You never knew when you needed another bolt. Not that he would probably get a chance to use them. He crumpled the letter into a small ball, and shoved it into a pocket, sitting back on the ground, waiting for the sunrise and the others to wake up. The darkness seemed to watching him back as he looked into it, and he wondered what secrets the Shadow had to hide.
There were so many anomalies with the Shadow, and he wanted desperately to know what was real about the figure, and what wasn’t. Even the sex of the assassin was in discussion, as some had said that the moves the assassin pulled off could only be done by a man - due to the necessary strength required for them. Others said that the figure they had seen had looked slim and graceful, like a woman. Personally, Matthias thought that any female assassin wouldn’t be quite as evil as the Shadow. Clean, efficient, and careful with choices of target, he would bet a female assassin would be. Not like to get her hands dirty by killing a good person. More like a very terminal bounty hunter, in fact. He nodded approvingly, and waited patiently for the sun to rise.
Matthias smiled as he looked over at his group, rolling up their beds and stuffing everything into large backpacks. There was very little track to go on, but he knew that the Shadow was following them now. It didn’t like people on its back, so it didn’t really matter where they went, it would follow and try to destroy. He tilted his head slightly, silently appraising his oddly assorted crew.
Bosch was built like a fighter, huge with powerful hands and a bald head. His eyes were small but intelligent, and he had a punch that could fell a tree.
Gunnar was much more slender, though nearly as tall, his hands quick and constantly moving. He was very twitchy, the depredations of the hunter’s life giving him a squint and a nervous tic that jumped whenever someone said his name, making his blonde lanky locks jingle upsettingly. For all his nervousness, he was the best tracker that the hunters had.
Jurgen was inspecting his arrows, a quiet and medium looking man, brown hair and eyes though no beard. He had almost supernatural speed when he had to. Some people whispered behind his back that he had elven blood in him, but he never took any notice, merely kept his weapons in good condition and fought with the kind of uncanny emotionlessness that was so very effective in battle, if only because it was unexpected. He was the archer, and it was said he could hit a man twice in the time it took for him to realise what was going on and to try to run.
Ferdinand was the last, and he was not quite as tall as Gunnar or as short as Jurgen, but fairly lean and muscled. He had a scar across one side of his face, slicing across his cheek as though someone had marked points an inch from the side of his face and had performed join the dots with a sword. It had just missed his eyes, which were a vivid green, startling in the man’s deeply tanned skin, and his tumbling short black hair. He was incredible with a blade, and Matthias had personally watched him whittle a group of thugs into a pile of corpses in a couple of minutes. It certainly made you pay his famous temper more attention, and he was always very careful to be polite to Ferdinand.
They had finished packing, and he himself had his pack on his back. With a broad gesture, they broke camp and started to walk through the woods in single file, Bosch at the back, and Gunnar at the front. It was quiet, though the forest creatures whistled and chirped happily in the trees. That didn’t make him feel any better though he tried very hard to see it dispassionately as a good sign that the Shadow was not around. Unfortunately, if it wasn’t around, it was probably planning something. He narrowed his eyes, patting the parchment in his pocket thoughtfully, and spoke up to Gunnar as they carefully stepped over a fallen log across the path, covered in thick green moss. ‘Gunnar, take us to the nearest town you know of around here. We need to get more supplies.’
Gunnar stopped and looked around, frowning in confusion, ‘But we’ll lose the trail.’
Matthias covered his surprise by raising his eyebrows as if daring the man to discredit his order again, but asked anyway, ‘There is a trail?’
Gunnar nodded, ‘A fresh one, not more than a few hours old. Not a great deal of spore, but there if you know what to look for.’ His eye muscles twitched as nerves started to get to him.
Matthias stood there thinking. His men let him wonder as they watched the thick primeval forest, full of hulking trees, damp leaves and moss. The air itself was full of the smell of growth and decay. The Shadow was clever, and it almost never left tracks unless it was hurrying. His senses screamed trap to him, especially after that letter, but he wondered. If there was a chance to face off with the Shadow now, before it started to take down his party, and reduce their numbers, then he had to take it. If it was a trap however, then he would lose at least one of his men anyway. Better on his terms than on the assassin’s. He wrestled with the decision for only a moment, and barked, ‘Take us to the nearest town, Gunnar. We can’t afford to walk into something that might be a trap.’ The others nodded, and Gunnar changed his course, moving into the bushes that reached up to their waists and waded through them, leaving enough trail for anyone to track them. Unfortunately, having Bosch in the group often meant that.
The group knew enough to keep quiet for now. Matthias knew what they were thinking – that when he seemed distracted it meant that it was because he knew bad things were going to happen very soon and was trying to think of a way to stop them. It was best to let him think. That way, you might survive the experience. He didn’t relax his wary lifestyle unless it was really bad, and considering they were tracking the Shadow, of all criminals, they each knew just how bad it could get.
Gunnar suddenly paused in the middle of the new pathway, only large enough for single file, looking down at his feet with a terrified expression on his face. He half-turned, and Matthias who was right behind him could just about see his lips framing the word, Sorry, before he was jerked upwards with a vicious movement that sent Matthias staggering backwards.
There were a few moments of absolute silence as the group watched the body spin in the slight wind, hanging from the trees; a hidden vine-covered rope tight around his throat. It had broken his neck when it had gone off, and Matthias suppressed a shudder as he watched the vacant look in the empty corpse’s eyes.
Gunnar was dead.
He motioned to Ferdinand. ‘Cut him down. Look out for traps.’ The swordsman nodded and moved forwards, easily finding the other end of the rope, which had being tied roughly to a tree. He frowned, then drew and cut in one motion, the rope being no hindrance to his swords and the body fell to the ground with a leafy crash. Matthias kept a tight control on his emotions. He had known Gunnar for a long time; from before he had developed his various neuroses and he knew that there was no greater tracker or nature lover in the bounty hunters, or indeed in any man that Matthias had met. He had being one of a kind, and now he was gone, just like that. The note’s promise comes back to him, echoing its vicious words in his brain, and he nods. He knew that there would be other casualties before this was over.
Around the rope were leaves, cunningly disguising it as a thick vine. Gunnar had seen it, too late. The sheer cunning of the trap left Matthias at a loss. How had the assassin known that they would be coming this way? He leant closer, seeing a piece of light tan among the green and then reached forward carefully. A note, parchment again, was tied around the rope with twine. He quickly picked it up and read it. He knew that the others, apart from Ferdinand who was still looking at the rope and thinking, couldn’t read. He closed his eyes once he read it, and then looked over it again, feeling sick.
Hmm, one down, four to go.
Seems like you just can’t hold onto your allies, Matthias.
They seem to have up and deserted you.
Shame on them. Well, well, can’t keep "hanging" around here.
Oh, give my regards to the victim if he survived.
It’s always difficult to judge whether you strangle them slowly,
break their neck or decapitate them with these rush jobs.
No weight ratios, you see.
If he’s dead, well, one less for you and me to worry about.
Still think you’re going to catch me, Matthias?
Or will I "catch" one of your friends? That’s a clue, by the way.
If you’re smart, maybe you can save his life.
I doubt it though. Oh, and as a second thought,
you can try to get to the town, if you want.
I won’t bet on your chances though.
Mind games. This was all mind games. Bosch was looking worried, and said in his deep yet quiet voice, ‘Matthias, we should get out of here. But, without Gunnar, we won’t be able to tell if there’s a trap.’ A look of fear, quickly suppressed, arose in his small eyes, ‘Without Gunnar, we don’t know where the town is. We’re lost.’
Jurgen looked sideways at the giant, and rolled his eyes, as Ferdinand started to come closer to the group, holding one length of rope in a hand, sword out in the other. Jurgen sighed, in his cold precise tone, ‘I know how to get to the town, Bosch. Gunnar was the best, but not the only tracker. So stop worrying your little head about it.’
Bosch raised an eyebrow at the archer, ‘You want me to shut you up, Jurgen? I could do it really easily. All I have to do is…’
‘Enough.’ Matthias only had to talk and the rest listened. ‘Ferdinand, what did you find?’
‘Shadow is quite clever. A vine, easily quickly placed where he knows we’re going because he’s listening to us, then climb a tree, hook it round a branch, and when the victim is in range, drop out of the tree. His weight causes the other side to go up, with fatal results. ‘Course none of us went looking immediately for him, because we were dealing with the body, or we would have caught him.’ Ferdinand swore, putting doubt on the killer’s parentage, and Matthias sighed inwardly, both admiring the ingenuity, and deploring the cold-bloodedness of it.
He raised a hand and beckoned Jurgen forward, ‘I’ve been warned that we shouldn’t go to town, but I think that’s just a bluff. It’s easier to kill us unnoticed out here. Far more difficult with people around us. You’ll have to take the lead. You alright with that?’
Jurgen met his leader’s eyes with a steady hazel gaze, and nodded firmly. He started to walk down the road, keeping an eye on the ground more than was usual for a tracker. Matthias could see why, however, but he didn’t think that the Shadow would use the same trick twice. It liked for you to marvel at its cleverness and originality. You are such a nutcase, Shadow, he thought in his mind, and that is the thing that is going to take you down.
The journey to the town was uninterrupted, even by the noon meal as no one really felt like eating. They had left Gunnar’s body in the woods, with the murmured assurance of Matthias that they would return for it after they had the Shadow in their grasp and there wasn’t so much danger. As the forest gave way to scrubby undergrowth, and then grassy hillsides, Matthias breathed a sigh of relief. It would be difficult for the Shadow to sneak up unnoticed on them in this field. He trained his gaze on the hills with a grim determination, and turned, yet again, to the cryptic clue that the cunning killer had given him. "Catch" seemed more applicable for Gunnar’s death, as the trap had been very similar to a snare. He didn’t remember any kind of hint in the first letter, and took it out in order to compare. Same handwriting, down to the swirl on the S, but no clue there, merely threats. Perhaps the clues were for the previous death. That sounded like the Shadow; attempts to confuse and misdirect its hunters were part of its plan. Then again, it also liked to play, so it could be a valid clue. That meant that the Shadow already knew who and how it was going to strike again. He sighed, shrugging his pack to try and get a sharp edge to stop digging into his back, and patted his crossbow and shortsword reassuringly. He noticed Ferninand come closer and waited until the man was close enough that their words wouldn’t bother Jurgen, who was striding along at the front, or Bosch who was at the back, turning around every couple of steps to watch the slowly retreating line of dark green. ‘So, what’s wrong, Ferninand?’
The raven-haired man paused for a moment to think before answering. ‘Bosch said that you picked up a letter from Gunnar’s body. What was on it?’
Matthias looked at his swordsman, and nodded. They were all in this together after all, and he trusted the man’s intelligence, ‘A threat, more or less. There was one shot at me last night too.’ He got them out of their hiding place and passed them over. He could see his lips moving as he read. Ferninand nodded, giving them back, his expression carefully neutral.
‘So, not really a mission with much chance of growing old, hmm?’ There was a slight tinge of hysteria to his voice, which Matthias chose to ignore, and chuckled instead. Ferninand had being of semi-noble birth. His mother was a noble, his father had not. When the true father had found out, he had thrown them both onto the streets. He never talked about what happened to his mother, though Matthias had a feeling he could take a few guesses. Ferninand had got his name from his heritage, and the ability to read and calculate. His sword ability was also based from having had the best teachers in sword-fighting. Natural ability and practice had done the rest.
‘No, not really.’ Matthias answered, and tucked away the parchment into where it had come from.
‘Do you think we have a chance, Matthias?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what they say about this guy, and yet you’re still going after him. Some would say that this is suicide, Matthias. You know the only reason Gunnar came on this is because he wanted to help a friend. You. Most of us are only here because of you. The hunters get demands for the Shadow all the time. Usually hysterical ones. The guild doesn’t do anything about it because they’re scared. You’re not, though, or maybe it’s closer to personal revenge. Anything happen, Matthias?’
For a moment, he thought that Ferninand knew about his obsession, and then coughed somewhat, ‘No, Ferninand, the Shadow has never killed one of my friends, unless you count hunters, and we all know that its around the corner for us anyway. It’s not revenge.’
‘It is for me.’
Uh-oh. Matthias looked at the swordsman in a new light, and tentatively replied, ‘What happened?’
‘It was a girl. Her parents were a bit rich, and her dad managed to piss off just about everyone in the local court. One of them took offence, and hired the Shadow. He got in and out as pretty as you please; Dad got disembowelled and his throat cut. A couple of guards told me what happened next. They saw everything through a half-closed door; they couldn’t see the Shadow, just my girl. Probably the reason that they are still alive. Apparently she was talking to the killer, trying to ask why the contract had being made. She got upset when the assassin wouldn’t answer, and then… ran at him. They found her, with a deep sword wound through the heart. She must have run straight onto it. She was the most beautiful and wonderful person I’ve ever met.’ Matthias was surprised to see a smile on Ferninand’s face. He was more famous for his murderous rages than anything, and he knew that the Shadow should be far more worried about the swordsman than it obviously was. Matthias’s own reasons for coming after such a monster were far less romantic and not really fit to be placed in a book.
He wanted to kill the Shadow, because it was the most dangerous and difficult target on the records. Matthias was getting old. He could feel it, in the very twinges of his legs and the way that bruises didn’t heal quite as quickly. Pretty soon, he would become just another hunter, and then a retired hunter. He was the best, and he wanted to do something that would put his name in the minds of those that came after. In the ledgers, as the man that caught the Shadow and brought it to justice. He knew that pride wasn’t the best reason to bring the party along to almost certain death, but he also knew that they all had their own reasons. Ferninand wanted revenge. Bosch wanted something no doubt, he wanted immortality, and Gunnar… Gunnar had wanted death, and release from all the twitches and fears and phobias he had acquired. Matthias could still remember him as a confident easy-going man, with the world in front of him. Instead of hardening up to it, Gunnar had waned, and been whittled down, until there was only a shadow of a man left. He found it difficult to truly grieve for Gunnar. He remembered his words, ‘I have lived so many years fighting moment from moment to stop myself from curling up into a ball and spend the rest of my life crying and shivering, hiding from the world. I have lived too many years, Matthias. That’s why I’m here.’ Matthias shook his head, coming out from his abstractions, and looked around, seeing the town from where he was standing as stone walls and a large gate. The towns in this area were all surrounded by large fortifications due to the tendency of threats to bounce off of them.
He hurried forwards, to make sure he was the first one through the gates, the two men at their posts watching them disinterestedly as they walked into the town, the buildings wrapping themselves around the party like an urban cocoon. Matthias relaxed a little, seeing the guards on most corners. Rather more militia than he was used to in these kinds of towns, but he felt that was more of a good thing at the moment than a bad one. He wanted a rest from the nerve-wracking search for the killer, and he turned into the first inn that he could see, The Elector Count. The faded red and gold sign was so faded that you couldn’t work out what the design used to be, but the writing was still legible on the tavern itself. Men were already in there though it was only the afternoon, and he walked in, followed by his group. A woman, dark haired and lovely, was serving drinks to the men, dressed in a white blouse and red skirt. Only hunters or trappers seemed to be drinking, their working hours more towards dusk and dawn, as the prey were moving around. The innkeeper was leaning against the bar, having an animated chat with one of the hunters, a lean evil-looking man with very short black hair and a permanent sneer pasted onto his face. Matthias walked up to the bar, and ordered drinks for himself, letting the others order for themselves. Bosch took a pint of some nasty looking stuff over to a table, while Jurgen contented himself with fruit juice. Matthias sometimes wondered if the archer truly did have some elven blood in him. He himself had beer, as Ferninand ordered some wine. They made an odd crew, but as the barmaid moved around, Matthias clicked his fingers and got her attention.
The first thing he noticed about her were her eyes. They were black, almost, and large, framed by long eyelashes. The second thing was her smile; it was radiant, though it didn’t match the guarded look in her gaze. She curtseyed slightly, and said in quite well cultured tones, ‘What will you be having, gentlemen?’
Bosch smiled, half leering, and said, ‘What you got?’
She gave an eloquent look, which silenced him, and turned back to Matthias. There was something very deadly about her now; a poise and a certain aura of darkness, before she smiled again, and he forgot all that, shaking it out of his mind like paranoid cobwebs. He was seeing threats everywhere now, even from barmaids for goodness’ sake. He waited as she began to recite the menu, and chose one from it; listening to his friends’ orders and watching the wench waltz off towards the kitchen. He leaned forwards, and the rest of the party leant close to listen.
‘Look, I know that you all understand the risks of this job, and I think, after this first murder, that I should tell you that the Shadow has sent messages to us. It’s threatening to kill us, one by one. I will be last, apparently, but we can’t take its word on anything. Gunnar is gone now, any of you or even me, could be next. All I can say is this: be careful, or if you don’t think you can cut it anymore, get out of here fast.’
The offer hung in the air for a moment, even the bustle of the inn seeming very far away as he watched the men make their own decisions. The flare in Ferninand’s eyes spoke volumes. He wanted revenge. Jurgen as always was impossible to read, but Bosch seemed to be having trouble deciding. He looked up at the giant. Brute strength would probably not do any good, and it would be the death of friend. He said quietly to Bosch, ‘If you want to go, go. We’ll manage. Just means you won’t get your name in the ledgers as part of the party that captured the Shadow. Also means you won’t go on the ledgers as one of the ones killed by it, either.’
Bosch glared back, ‘Matthias, I ain’t no quitter. I’m not going to desert you now. Besides, the Shadow is evil. It should be stopped.’
Matthias blinked in surprise. Seemed like Bosch’s reason for coming on this suicide trek was altruism and a desire to protect society. He thought that bounty hunter got over that in their first year. In deference to the big man’s wishes, he merely nodded.
Jurgen nodded as well, and said in his usual half monotone, ‘I’ll stay.’
Ferninand replied, ‘Staying, Matthias, and you know why. That godforsaken killer is going to eat dirt before I finish with him.’
Jurgen gave his feisty comrade an amused glance, but didn’t say anything. Matthias smiled to himself. Those two were almost opposites in temperament, but they got along well enough. Their conference was interrupted by the food arriving, and he used his knife to cut off a long piece of pork and lift it to his mouth. He forestalled slightly as the barmaid, the same dark-haired minx from earlier, reached inside her apron and gave him a piece of parchment, folded up. He stared at it for a second, and then put the meat down, waving everyone else to do the same, though Bosch had already taken a mouthful. Matthias picked up the letter, and looked at the girl, ‘Who gave you this?’
‘Oh, a man in the kitchens, sir. Someone I don’t know, lean, dark-haired. He told me to give this to you. Then I turned around to ask him if he wanted to give me his name, but he was gone. Cook said that he didn’t know him either, sir.’
Matthias stared at the paper and then slowly opened it up. The now familiar writing stared back at him.
Guess you got to the town after all.
A mistake, me thinks. I am, after all, an assassin.
I tend to live and work in cities.
What makes you think that just because you’re in a stone forest,
that you are any less at risk. I could be anyone,
and even the most innocent action could kill one of your men.
Like eating, for example.
Hope you enjoy your meal.
Matthias glanced up and stood up, ‘Bosch, how much did you eat?’
Bosch looked confused, ‘Just a bite, mate. I…’ He stopped, and looked a little green.
Jurgen also stood up, trying to push Bosch into the room, ‘Get outside and throw up, Bosch. If it’s poison, you stand a better chance!’ Bosch moved towards the door, his face now pale and beads of sweat forming on his temples. Matthias followed, the parchment crunched up in his fist. Poison; the cowards’ weapon. As they entered the stables, near a drain, Bosch bent over and vomited into the grate, slight tremors starting to occur in his limbs. He was very pale now, his lips practically white. Jurgen was crouched next to him, encouraging him to fight it. Matthias watched as if in a dream. He knew that the Shadow would kill Bosch. It didn’t do this kind of thing randomly. If it gave him enough time to vomit it out, then vomiting wouldn’t do any good. A strange paralysis of helplessness came over him, and he turned away, as Bosch stopped throwing up and leant against a bale of hay, shaking more violently now. Jurgen looked up at his leader, as if pleading for him to do something, but Matthias just looked down at his feet, not giving anything.
Bosch, between shakes, started to speak, ‘Matthias… am I… going to die?’
Matthias looked up and straight into now highly dilated eyes, ‘Yes.’
Bosch shivered, ‘How long?’
Matthias shrugged, ‘I don’t know. Could be in a few minutes. Could be hours.’
Bosch turned to Jurgen. ‘Always wanted… to die in battle. Think the Shadow… must have done… his homework. Still want to… Get Ferninand.’
Bosch needn’t have bothered, as Ferninand stepped out of the beam he had being hiding behind. Jurgen helped their suffering comrade up to his feet, and Bosch drew his sword. He still had enough strength to grip it and swing, as he lunged towards the much smaller swordsman. Ferninand eeled aside with casual grace, and swung back. Bosch tried to dodge the blow, his honour would have nothing less, but Ferninand was quick, and easily slid his sword into his friend’s heart. Bosch jerked again, blood bubbling against his lips, and then fell to his knees. Ferninand removed his sword, and watched, a glistening in his eyes, as the giant hunter fell to the ground, his eyes still wide open. Jurgen crouched down again, closing them, and looked up at Matthias.
‘Do we have time to bury this one, Matthias?’ His words were harsh, coarsened by grief and anger. Matthias silently nodded.
Ferninand watched the body, blood still dripping off from his blade, and he absently cleaned it and sheathed it, his expression of steely determination not changing with his actions. He spoke, quietly, ‘I don’t see how "catch" has anything to do with this. Do you?’
Matthias shook his head, and moved towards the door, ‘The barmaid saw him. We can question her. Come on. We will get this !’
Jurgen got to his feet, and gently pulled a tarpaulin over the body, before following Matthias and Ferninand into the main room. As they didn’t come back with the fourth, those who had heard Jurgen’s panicked shout bowed their heads in silent respect, though a few made coarse jokes in a whisper at the back. Matthias ignored them. He was only interested in one action now. He grabbed the girl, who was still standing there, with a sorrowful look on her face. He leant close, growling, ‘Where did he go?’
She shrank back, though again there was that echo of something defiant in her eyes, ‘I told you, I don’t know. He disappeared before I could see.’
He tightened his grip, ‘Look, missy. My friend is dead because of that . You either help us, or you are in our way. Get it?’ He ignored the stab of shame at threatening the poor woman, but it paid off.
‘All right! Come with me and I will show you where I think he went.’ She walked slowly through the kitchens, one hand still in the iron grip of Matthias. They pushed open the door and the cook looked up, puzzled, at her and the group, before turning back to stirring a large steel pot. She opened a side door that led into the street, and walked along it. The sun was just starting to go down as she walked firmly up the street, and took a left, walking through the maze of back alleys that littered this part of the town. A rat squeaked from hiding as Jurgen, his hand on his knife, brought up the rear. He spun, looking for movement, but the rodent had disappeared. He warily watched the rooftops for hidden bowmen.
Matthias merely watched the woman, who was confidently walking through the mess, and stopped at an almost hidden door. The window next to it was crudely boarded over. She tried the handle and it swung open. Inside was something very similar to an armoury. Several crossbow bolts in cases, and a very nice-looking crossbow next to them. Two swords and a bundle of small discs of sharpened steel. They had found the hiding place. Ferninand smiled grimly, as Jurgen looked inside, and pointed to a dark recess. ‘Looks like black clothes, and…’ He peered closer, ‘There’s a woman’s body in here, Matthias!’
Matthias walked forwards quickly, examining the woman. She was naked, and abrasions around her neck eloquently told of her death, ‘Strangled, poor woman. Probably as well. This Shadow is a sick one.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ It was the voice of the barmaid, but it was changed now, darker, and far more deadly. ‘I think I work exactly to specifications.’
***
Matthias watched the leaves of the dark trees around with an almost paranoid fascination, more or less because his life depended on it. The questions that that small number of people thought about weren’t racing through his mind. At least, not yet. Right here and now, he was trying to get through a lonely watch in the woods, without being surprised by an attack. A treacherous thought at the back of his mind informed him that he would be anyway, because he knew what he was following. All that was really known about him was what was picked up from looking over the corpses after he had finished with them, and distant glimpses as the hunters had run away. Most of the group, he reflected, looking around at the sleeping bodies, were hardened hunters, with plenty of successful contracts under their belt, but even they were nervous. It was the simple truth that no one had ever come back from chasing the Shadow, or if they did, it was only in pieces.
He shuddered, keeping his eyes moving in the way paranoia sometimes makes them, skittering from shadow to shadow, then to his men and the fire cheerily burning in the small ring of stones from the riverbed. He could hear the insects chirping in the foliage, and the grass underneath his pants was flat and slightly damp from the rainfall they had had. The faintest sound made him turn his head, hand reaching for his sword-hilt, but it was just Gunnar, moving in his sleep, arms clasped around his blanket as though it was a shield.
Matthias nodded slowly, and then looked over the other men. They were five in total, including Matthias. He smiled bitterly, the expression stretching his face unpleasantly, as he contemplated that the Shadow was much more likely to be brought down by an army, than by five men who had seen too many small battles, and too much bloodshed and dirty dealing to really see clearly when it came to criminals. Like hunters of animals, you learned how to predict the prey, how they thought. After a while, it was how you thought, as well, though without the criminal part, of course. Shadow didn’t think in the way they were used to – not at all. Where a normal criminal would go in and kill someone that needed killing, quick and clean, they wouldn’t then go back and kill some guards for sport, and then steal any valuables they could reach before leaving the scene and just disappearing. That was what the Shadow did. It never struck in quite the same way, and the only way you knew it was its work, was because of the way the guards tended to be killed. Not the target himself, of course, the Shadow had all sorts of interesting ways to kill its targets, but the guards were often found with either sword wounds or strange metal discs embedded in them. He had researched and bargained, and eventually found that they originated in Nippon, or was it Cathay? No matter, they were foreign, and that explained why the Shadow was so very difficult to predict.
Or so they'd thought, but then someone managed to get a look at the killer’s hand, and it had being white as any Reiksland folk, not at all like the Nipponese he had ever seen. So, they had reasoned, they would find the supplier, and cut the Shadow off from its favourite weapons.
Matthias’s smile twisted again as he remembered the fiasco. They had eventually found the man who had supplied the Shadow with the first few trinkets in exchange for his life. A small Nipponese man, he had being frightened and awed, but he had said that he had also given the Shadow the secret to making them. Dead end. Very dead, especially as the group only managed to report before they were cut down by some unseen hurricane of hatred. It was only later that they realised that the small Nipponese man had disappeared in the confusion. Make what you will of that, he had said to his men, and left it to stew in their minds.
A bird landed on a patch of grass a few metres away from him, and started to pick up a worm from the damp dark green, keeping a wary eye on the bounty hunter, while he kept an eye on it. It picked up the worm in its beak, and dropped it as it fluttered away in a flurry of panic and bestial fear.
A bolt streamed out of the darkness, straight and true, only a few inches away from Matthias’s left ear as he watched the night, faster than he could quite comprehend, and stuck into the tree behind him with a clunk. He paused for a second, thinking. The rumour was that the Shadow never missed. Which must mean that either the Shadow wanted to miss, or that it wasn’t the Shadow out there. Either of those was comforting, and he slowly walked over towards the bolt. As he had halfway been expecting, a roll of parchment was tied to it with black string. He sighed, untying it, and rolled it open, and saw the familiar symbols of Reikspiel. As a somewhat educated man, he could read, and he was sure that the Shadow knew that too. Casting a backward glance over his shoulder, he turned his attention to the words on the page, frowning and a slight green tinge flowing over his features as he read.
Hello Matthias,
You’re probably wondering how I know your name.
Some of your late friends told me about you.
Usually in the case of trying to threaten me with your retribution.
They say you’re the best.
Should I be honoured, or scared?
No matter what I should be, what I am, is angry.
You really should have taken the hint at the river, Matthias, and left me alone to do my job.
Now your foolishness is going to cost your little group their lives.
One by one.
I will leave the best for last, as is always the case, don’t you think?
One should ALWAYS leave the best for last.
It’s something to look forward to.
In this case, for the challenge.
They say you’re the best.
But I also hear what they say about me.
Tell you what, Matthias, just before I fight you, I will tell you all you want to know about me.
You’ll get to have all the pieces to the puzzles, all the answers.
Then, if you kill me, you can put me down in history in the way that actually is, rather than the rumours and stories I hear so often.
If I kill you, which I will of course, then my secret will be safe.
I’m watching you Matthias. You and Gunnar and Ferdinand and Bosch and Jurgen. One by one. Be seeing you.
There was no signature. He didn’t really expect one from the killer they had being trailing. He ran a finger over the words as he thought about the river, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils white with anger. They had being travelling over a bridge and had packhorses with them. They were also wearing backpacks too, but as the last horse had stood on the bridge, it had shuddered like the ground in an earthquake and collapsed into the seething river water. They hadn’t found the horses, or the packs. Matthias had a nasty suspicion they were with the Shadow’s camp, calmly waiting for the killer of their masters to feed them and look after them. He wondered idly what other tricks the assassin was going to use. By the look of the note, fear was one of them. It was sent for a specific purpose, to make the hunters afraid and paranoid. To make them angry, too. He raised an eyebrow wryly, wondering if the Shadow knew that merely the reputation the ethereal assassin had accumulated generated all those things in abundance.
He put a foot on the tree and pulled out the bolt with some difficulty, spraying Bosch with wood dust, and almost threw it in the bushes surrounding the small clearing, before rethinking and putting it in his own crossbow bolt stack. You never knew when you needed another bolt. Not that he would probably get a chance to use them. He crumpled the letter into a small ball, and shoved it into a pocket, sitting back on the ground, waiting for the sunrise and the others to wake up. The darkness seemed to watching him back as he looked into it, and he wondered what secrets the Shadow had to hide.
There were so many anomalies with the Shadow, and he wanted desperately to know what was real about the figure, and what wasn’t. Even the sex of the assassin was in discussion, as some had said that the moves the assassin pulled off could only be done by a man - due to the necessary strength required for them. Others said that the figure they had seen had looked slim and graceful, like a woman. Personally, Matthias thought that any female assassin wouldn’t be quite as evil as the Shadow. Clean, efficient, and careful with choices of target, he would bet a female assassin would be. Not like to get her hands dirty by killing a good person. More like a very terminal bounty hunter, in fact. He nodded approvingly, and waited patiently for the sun to rise.
Matthias smiled as he looked over at his group, rolling up their beds and stuffing everything into large backpacks. There was very little track to go on, but he knew that the Shadow was following them now. It didn’t like people on its back, so it didn’t really matter where they went, it would follow and try to destroy. He tilted his head slightly, silently appraising his oddly assorted crew.
Bosch was built like a fighter, huge with powerful hands and a bald head. His eyes were small but intelligent, and he had a punch that could fell a tree.
Gunnar was much more slender, though nearly as tall, his hands quick and constantly moving. He was very twitchy, the depredations of the hunter’s life giving him a squint and a nervous tic that jumped whenever someone said his name, making his blonde lanky locks jingle upsettingly. For all his nervousness, he was the best tracker that the hunters had.
Jurgen was inspecting his arrows, a quiet and medium looking man, brown hair and eyes though no beard. He had almost supernatural speed when he had to. Some people whispered behind his back that he had elven blood in him, but he never took any notice, merely kept his weapons in good condition and fought with the kind of uncanny emotionlessness that was so very effective in battle, if only because it was unexpected. He was the archer, and it was said he could hit a man twice in the time it took for him to realise what was going on and to try to run.
Ferdinand was the last, and he was not quite as tall as Gunnar or as short as Jurgen, but fairly lean and muscled. He had a scar across one side of his face, slicing across his cheek as though someone had marked points an inch from the side of his face and had performed join the dots with a sword. It had just missed his eyes, which were a vivid green, startling in the man’s deeply tanned skin, and his tumbling short black hair. He was incredible with a blade, and Matthias had personally watched him whittle a group of thugs into a pile of corpses in a couple of minutes. It certainly made you pay his famous temper more attention, and he was always very careful to be polite to Ferdinand.
They had finished packing, and he himself had his pack on his back. With a broad gesture, they broke camp and started to walk through the woods in single file, Bosch at the back, and Gunnar at the front. It was quiet, though the forest creatures whistled and chirped happily in the trees. That didn’t make him feel any better though he tried very hard to see it dispassionately as a good sign that the Shadow was not around. Unfortunately, if it wasn’t around, it was probably planning something. He narrowed his eyes, patting the parchment in his pocket thoughtfully, and spoke up to Gunnar as they carefully stepped over a fallen log across the path, covered in thick green moss. ‘Gunnar, take us to the nearest town you know of around here. We need to get more supplies.’
Gunnar stopped and looked around, frowning in confusion, ‘But we’ll lose the trail.’
Matthias covered his surprise by raising his eyebrows as if daring the man to discredit his order again, but asked anyway, ‘There is a trail?’
Gunnar nodded, ‘A fresh one, not more than a few hours old. Not a great deal of spore, but there if you know what to look for.’ His eye muscles twitched as nerves started to get to him.
Matthias stood there thinking. His men let him wonder as they watched the thick primeval forest, full of hulking trees, damp leaves and moss. The air itself was full of the smell of growth and decay. The Shadow was clever, and it almost never left tracks unless it was hurrying. His senses screamed trap to him, especially after that letter, but he wondered. If there was a chance to face off with the Shadow now, before it started to take down his party, and reduce their numbers, then he had to take it. If it was a trap however, then he would lose at least one of his men anyway. Better on his terms than on the assassin’s. He wrestled with the decision for only a moment, and barked, ‘Take us to the nearest town, Gunnar. We can’t afford to walk into something that might be a trap.’ The others nodded, and Gunnar changed his course, moving into the bushes that reached up to their waists and waded through them, leaving enough trail for anyone to track them. Unfortunately, having Bosch in the group often meant that.
The group knew enough to keep quiet for now. Matthias knew what they were thinking – that when he seemed distracted it meant that it was because he knew bad things were going to happen very soon and was trying to think of a way to stop them. It was best to let him think. That way, you might survive the experience. He didn’t relax his wary lifestyle unless it was really bad, and considering they were tracking the Shadow, of all criminals, they each knew just how bad it could get.
Gunnar suddenly paused in the middle of the new pathway, only large enough for single file, looking down at his feet with a terrified expression on his face. He half-turned, and Matthias who was right behind him could just about see his lips framing the word, Sorry, before he was jerked upwards with a vicious movement that sent Matthias staggering backwards.
There were a few moments of absolute silence as the group watched the body spin in the slight wind, hanging from the trees; a hidden vine-covered rope tight around his throat. It had broken his neck when it had gone off, and Matthias suppressed a shudder as he watched the vacant look in the empty corpse’s eyes.
Gunnar was dead.
He motioned to Ferdinand. ‘Cut him down. Look out for traps.’ The swordsman nodded and moved forwards, easily finding the other end of the rope, which had being tied roughly to a tree. He frowned, then drew and cut in one motion, the rope being no hindrance to his swords and the body fell to the ground with a leafy crash. Matthias kept a tight control on his emotions. He had known Gunnar for a long time; from before he had developed his various neuroses and he knew that there was no greater tracker or nature lover in the bounty hunters, or indeed in any man that Matthias had met. He had being one of a kind, and now he was gone, just like that. The note’s promise comes back to him, echoing its vicious words in his brain, and he nods. He knew that there would be other casualties before this was over.
Around the rope were leaves, cunningly disguising it as a thick vine. Gunnar had seen it, too late. The sheer cunning of the trap left Matthias at a loss. How had the assassin known that they would be coming this way? He leant closer, seeing a piece of light tan among the green and then reached forward carefully. A note, parchment again, was tied around the rope with twine. He quickly picked it up and read it. He knew that the others, apart from Ferdinand who was still looking at the rope and thinking, couldn’t read. He closed his eyes once he read it, and then looked over it again, feeling sick.
Hmm, one down, four to go.
Seems like you just can’t hold onto your allies, Matthias.
They seem to have up and deserted you.
Shame on them. Well, well, can’t keep "hanging" around here.
Oh, give my regards to the victim if he survived.
It’s always difficult to judge whether you strangle them slowly,
break their neck or decapitate them with these rush jobs.
No weight ratios, you see.
If he’s dead, well, one less for you and me to worry about.
Still think you’re going to catch me, Matthias?
Or will I "catch" one of your friends? That’s a clue, by the way.
If you’re smart, maybe you can save his life.
I doubt it though. Oh, and as a second thought,
you can try to get to the town, if you want.
I won’t bet on your chances though.
Mind games. This was all mind games. Bosch was looking worried, and said in his deep yet quiet voice, ‘Matthias, we should get out of here. But, without Gunnar, we won’t be able to tell if there’s a trap.’ A look of fear, quickly suppressed, arose in his small eyes, ‘Without Gunnar, we don’t know where the town is. We’re lost.’
Jurgen looked sideways at the giant, and rolled his eyes, as Ferdinand started to come closer to the group, holding one length of rope in a hand, sword out in the other. Jurgen sighed, in his cold precise tone, ‘I know how to get to the town, Bosch. Gunnar was the best, but not the only tracker. So stop worrying your little head about it.’
Bosch raised an eyebrow at the archer, ‘You want me to shut you up, Jurgen? I could do it really easily. All I have to do is…’
‘Enough.’ Matthias only had to talk and the rest listened. ‘Ferdinand, what did you find?’
‘Shadow is quite clever. A vine, easily quickly placed where he knows we’re going because he’s listening to us, then climb a tree, hook it round a branch, and when the victim is in range, drop out of the tree. His weight causes the other side to go up, with fatal results. ‘Course none of us went looking immediately for him, because we were dealing with the body, or we would have caught him.’ Ferdinand swore, putting doubt on the killer’s parentage, and Matthias sighed inwardly, both admiring the ingenuity, and deploring the cold-bloodedness of it.
He raised a hand and beckoned Jurgen forward, ‘I’ve been warned that we shouldn’t go to town, but I think that’s just a bluff. It’s easier to kill us unnoticed out here. Far more difficult with people around us. You’ll have to take the lead. You alright with that?’
Jurgen met his leader’s eyes with a steady hazel gaze, and nodded firmly. He started to walk down the road, keeping an eye on the ground more than was usual for a tracker. Matthias could see why, however, but he didn’t think that the Shadow would use the same trick twice. It liked for you to marvel at its cleverness and originality. You are such a nutcase, Shadow, he thought in his mind, and that is the thing that is going to take you down.
The journey to the town was uninterrupted, even by the noon meal as no one really felt like eating. They had left Gunnar’s body in the woods, with the murmured assurance of Matthias that they would return for it after they had the Shadow in their grasp and there wasn’t so much danger. As the forest gave way to scrubby undergrowth, and then grassy hillsides, Matthias breathed a sigh of relief. It would be difficult for the Shadow to sneak up unnoticed on them in this field. He trained his gaze on the hills with a grim determination, and turned, yet again, to the cryptic clue that the cunning killer had given him. "Catch" seemed more applicable for Gunnar’s death, as the trap had been very similar to a snare. He didn’t remember any kind of hint in the first letter, and took it out in order to compare. Same handwriting, down to the swirl on the S, but no clue there, merely threats. Perhaps the clues were for the previous death. That sounded like the Shadow; attempts to confuse and misdirect its hunters were part of its plan. Then again, it also liked to play, so it could be a valid clue. That meant that the Shadow already knew who and how it was going to strike again. He sighed, shrugging his pack to try and get a sharp edge to stop digging into his back, and patted his crossbow and shortsword reassuringly. He noticed Ferninand come closer and waited until the man was close enough that their words wouldn’t bother Jurgen, who was striding along at the front, or Bosch who was at the back, turning around every couple of steps to watch the slowly retreating line of dark green. ‘So, what’s wrong, Ferninand?’
The raven-haired man paused for a moment to think before answering. ‘Bosch said that you picked up a letter from Gunnar’s body. What was on it?’
Matthias looked at his swordsman, and nodded. They were all in this together after all, and he trusted the man’s intelligence, ‘A threat, more or less. There was one shot at me last night too.’ He got them out of their hiding place and passed them over. He could see his lips moving as he read. Ferninand nodded, giving them back, his expression carefully neutral.
‘So, not really a mission with much chance of growing old, hmm?’ There was a slight tinge of hysteria to his voice, which Matthias chose to ignore, and chuckled instead. Ferninand had being of semi-noble birth. His mother was a noble, his father had not. When the true father had found out, he had thrown them both onto the streets. He never talked about what happened to his mother, though Matthias had a feeling he could take a few guesses. Ferninand had got his name from his heritage, and the ability to read and calculate. His sword ability was also based from having had the best teachers in sword-fighting. Natural ability and practice had done the rest.
‘No, not really.’ Matthias answered, and tucked away the parchment into where it had come from.
‘Do you think we have a chance, Matthias?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what they say about this guy, and yet you’re still going after him. Some would say that this is suicide, Matthias. You know the only reason Gunnar came on this is because he wanted to help a friend. You. Most of us are only here because of you. The hunters get demands for the Shadow all the time. Usually hysterical ones. The guild doesn’t do anything about it because they’re scared. You’re not, though, or maybe it’s closer to personal revenge. Anything happen, Matthias?’
For a moment, he thought that Ferninand knew about his obsession, and then coughed somewhat, ‘No, Ferninand, the Shadow has never killed one of my friends, unless you count hunters, and we all know that its around the corner for us anyway. It’s not revenge.’
‘It is for me.’
Uh-oh. Matthias looked at the swordsman in a new light, and tentatively replied, ‘What happened?’
‘It was a girl. Her parents were a bit rich, and her dad managed to piss off just about everyone in the local court. One of them took offence, and hired the Shadow. He got in and out as pretty as you please; Dad got disembowelled and his throat cut. A couple of guards told me what happened next. They saw everything through a half-closed door; they couldn’t see the Shadow, just my girl. Probably the reason that they are still alive. Apparently she was talking to the killer, trying to ask why the contract had being made. She got upset when the assassin wouldn’t answer, and then… ran at him. They found her, with a deep sword wound through the heart. She must have run straight onto it. She was the most beautiful and wonderful person I’ve ever met.’ Matthias was surprised to see a smile on Ferninand’s face. He was more famous for his murderous rages than anything, and he knew that the Shadow should be far more worried about the swordsman than it obviously was. Matthias’s own reasons for coming after such a monster were far less romantic and not really fit to be placed in a book.
He wanted to kill the Shadow, because it was the most dangerous and difficult target on the records. Matthias was getting old. He could feel it, in the very twinges of his legs and the way that bruises didn’t heal quite as quickly. Pretty soon, he would become just another hunter, and then a retired hunter. He was the best, and he wanted to do something that would put his name in the minds of those that came after. In the ledgers, as the man that caught the Shadow and brought it to justice. He knew that pride wasn’t the best reason to bring the party along to almost certain death, but he also knew that they all had their own reasons. Ferninand wanted revenge. Bosch wanted something no doubt, he wanted immortality, and Gunnar… Gunnar had wanted death, and release from all the twitches and fears and phobias he had acquired. Matthias could still remember him as a confident easy-going man, with the world in front of him. Instead of hardening up to it, Gunnar had waned, and been whittled down, until there was only a shadow of a man left. He found it difficult to truly grieve for Gunnar. He remembered his words, ‘I have lived so many years fighting moment from moment to stop myself from curling up into a ball and spend the rest of my life crying and shivering, hiding from the world. I have lived too many years, Matthias. That’s why I’m here.’ Matthias shook his head, coming out from his abstractions, and looked around, seeing the town from where he was standing as stone walls and a large gate. The towns in this area were all surrounded by large fortifications due to the tendency of threats to bounce off of them.
He hurried forwards, to make sure he was the first one through the gates, the two men at their posts watching them disinterestedly as they walked into the town, the buildings wrapping themselves around the party like an urban cocoon. Matthias relaxed a little, seeing the guards on most corners. Rather more militia than he was used to in these kinds of towns, but he felt that was more of a good thing at the moment than a bad one. He wanted a rest from the nerve-wracking search for the killer, and he turned into the first inn that he could see, The Elector Count. The faded red and gold sign was so faded that you couldn’t work out what the design used to be, but the writing was still legible on the tavern itself. Men were already in there though it was only the afternoon, and he walked in, followed by his group. A woman, dark haired and lovely, was serving drinks to the men, dressed in a white blouse and red skirt. Only hunters or trappers seemed to be drinking, their working hours more towards dusk and dawn, as the prey were moving around. The innkeeper was leaning against the bar, having an animated chat with one of the hunters, a lean evil-looking man with very short black hair and a permanent sneer pasted onto his face. Matthias walked up to the bar, and ordered drinks for himself, letting the others order for themselves. Bosch took a pint of some nasty looking stuff over to a table, while Jurgen contented himself with fruit juice. Matthias sometimes wondered if the archer truly did have some elven blood in him. He himself had beer, as Ferninand ordered some wine. They made an odd crew, but as the barmaid moved around, Matthias clicked his fingers and got her attention.
The first thing he noticed about her were her eyes. They were black, almost, and large, framed by long eyelashes. The second thing was her smile; it was radiant, though it didn’t match the guarded look in her gaze. She curtseyed slightly, and said in quite well cultured tones, ‘What will you be having, gentlemen?’
Bosch smiled, half leering, and said, ‘What you got?’
She gave an eloquent look, which silenced him, and turned back to Matthias. There was something very deadly about her now; a poise and a certain aura of darkness, before she smiled again, and he forgot all that, shaking it out of his mind like paranoid cobwebs. He was seeing threats everywhere now, even from barmaids for goodness’ sake. He waited as she began to recite the menu, and chose one from it; listening to his friends’ orders and watching the wench waltz off towards the kitchen. He leaned forwards, and the rest of the party leant close to listen.
‘Look, I know that you all understand the risks of this job, and I think, after this first murder, that I should tell you that the Shadow has sent messages to us. It’s threatening to kill us, one by one. I will be last, apparently, but we can’t take its word on anything. Gunnar is gone now, any of you or even me, could be next. All I can say is this: be careful, or if you don’t think you can cut it anymore, get out of here fast.’
The offer hung in the air for a moment, even the bustle of the inn seeming very far away as he watched the men make their own decisions. The flare in Ferninand’s eyes spoke volumes. He wanted revenge. Jurgen as always was impossible to read, but Bosch seemed to be having trouble deciding. He looked up at the giant. Brute strength would probably not do any good, and it would be the death of friend. He said quietly to Bosch, ‘If you want to go, go. We’ll manage. Just means you won’t get your name in the ledgers as part of the party that captured the Shadow. Also means you won’t go on the ledgers as one of the ones killed by it, either.’
Bosch glared back, ‘Matthias, I ain’t no quitter. I’m not going to desert you now. Besides, the Shadow is evil. It should be stopped.’
Matthias blinked in surprise. Seemed like Bosch’s reason for coming on this suicide trek was altruism and a desire to protect society. He thought that bounty hunter got over that in their first year. In deference to the big man’s wishes, he merely nodded.
Jurgen nodded as well, and said in his usual half monotone, ‘I’ll stay.’
Ferninand replied, ‘Staying, Matthias, and you know why. That godforsaken killer is going to eat dirt before I finish with him.’
Jurgen gave his feisty comrade an amused glance, but didn’t say anything. Matthias smiled to himself. Those two were almost opposites in temperament, but they got along well enough. Their conference was interrupted by the food arriving, and he used his knife to cut off a long piece of pork and lift it to his mouth. He forestalled slightly as the barmaid, the same dark-haired minx from earlier, reached inside her apron and gave him a piece of parchment, folded up. He stared at it for a second, and then put the meat down, waving everyone else to do the same, though Bosch had already taken a mouthful. Matthias picked up the letter, and looked at the girl, ‘Who gave you this?’
‘Oh, a man in the kitchens, sir. Someone I don’t know, lean, dark-haired. He told me to give this to you. Then I turned around to ask him if he wanted to give me his name, but he was gone. Cook said that he didn’t know him either, sir.’
Matthias stared at the paper and then slowly opened it up. The now familiar writing stared back at him.
Guess you got to the town after all.
A mistake, me thinks. I am, after all, an assassin.
I tend to live and work in cities.
What makes you think that just because you’re in a stone forest,
that you are any less at risk. I could be anyone,
and even the most innocent action could kill one of your men.
Like eating, for example.
Hope you enjoy your meal.
Matthias glanced up and stood up, ‘Bosch, how much did you eat?’
Bosch looked confused, ‘Just a bite, mate. I…’ He stopped, and looked a little green.
Jurgen also stood up, trying to push Bosch into the room, ‘Get outside and throw up, Bosch. If it’s poison, you stand a better chance!’ Bosch moved towards the door, his face now pale and beads of sweat forming on his temples. Matthias followed, the parchment crunched up in his fist. Poison; the cowards’ weapon. As they entered the stables, near a drain, Bosch bent over and vomited into the grate, slight tremors starting to occur in his limbs. He was very pale now, his lips practically white. Jurgen was crouched next to him, encouraging him to fight it. Matthias watched as if in a dream. He knew that the Shadow would kill Bosch. It didn’t do this kind of thing randomly. If it gave him enough time to vomit it out, then vomiting wouldn’t do any good. A strange paralysis of helplessness came over him, and he turned away, as Bosch stopped throwing up and leant against a bale of hay, shaking more violently now. Jurgen looked up at his leader, as if pleading for him to do something, but Matthias just looked down at his feet, not giving anything.
Bosch, between shakes, started to speak, ‘Matthias… am I… going to die?’
Matthias looked up and straight into now highly dilated eyes, ‘Yes.’
Bosch shivered, ‘How long?’
Matthias shrugged, ‘I don’t know. Could be in a few minutes. Could be hours.’
Bosch turned to Jurgen. ‘Always wanted… to die in battle. Think the Shadow… must have done… his homework. Still want to… Get Ferninand.’
Bosch needn’t have bothered, as Ferninand stepped out of the beam he had being hiding behind. Jurgen helped their suffering comrade up to his feet, and Bosch drew his sword. He still had enough strength to grip it and swing, as he lunged towards the much smaller swordsman. Ferninand eeled aside with casual grace, and swung back. Bosch tried to dodge the blow, his honour would have nothing less, but Ferninand was quick, and easily slid his sword into his friend’s heart. Bosch jerked again, blood bubbling against his lips, and then fell to his knees. Ferninand removed his sword, and watched, a glistening in his eyes, as the giant hunter fell to the ground, his eyes still wide open. Jurgen crouched down again, closing them, and looked up at Matthias.
‘Do we have time to bury this one, Matthias?’ His words were harsh, coarsened by grief and anger. Matthias silently nodded.
Ferninand watched the body, blood still dripping off from his blade, and he absently cleaned it and sheathed it, his expression of steely determination not changing with his actions. He spoke, quietly, ‘I don’t see how "catch" has anything to do with this. Do you?’
Matthias shook his head, and moved towards the door, ‘The barmaid saw him. We can question her. Come on. We will get this !’
Jurgen got to his feet, and gently pulled a tarpaulin over the body, before following Matthias and Ferninand into the main room. As they didn’t come back with the fourth, those who had heard Jurgen’s panicked shout bowed their heads in silent respect, though a few made coarse jokes in a whisper at the back. Matthias ignored them. He was only interested in one action now. He grabbed the girl, who was still standing there, with a sorrowful look on her face. He leant close, growling, ‘Where did he go?’
She shrank back, though again there was that echo of something defiant in her eyes, ‘I told you, I don’t know. He disappeared before I could see.’
He tightened his grip, ‘Look, missy. My friend is dead because of that . You either help us, or you are in our way. Get it?’ He ignored the stab of shame at threatening the poor woman, but it paid off.
‘All right! Come with me and I will show you where I think he went.’ She walked slowly through the kitchens, one hand still in the iron grip of Matthias. They pushed open the door and the cook looked up, puzzled, at her and the group, before turning back to stirring a large steel pot. She opened a side door that led into the street, and walked along it. The sun was just starting to go down as she walked firmly up the street, and took a left, walking through the maze of back alleys that littered this part of the town. A rat squeaked from hiding as Jurgen, his hand on his knife, brought up the rear. He spun, looking for movement, but the rodent had disappeared. He warily watched the rooftops for hidden bowmen.
Matthias merely watched the woman, who was confidently walking through the mess, and stopped at an almost hidden door. The window next to it was crudely boarded over. She tried the handle and it swung open. Inside was something very similar to an armoury. Several crossbow bolts in cases, and a very nice-looking crossbow next to them. Two swords and a bundle of small discs of sharpened steel. They had found the hiding place. Ferninand smiled grimly, as Jurgen looked inside, and pointed to a dark recess. ‘Looks like black clothes, and…’ He peered closer, ‘There’s a woman’s body in here, Matthias!’
Matthias walked forwards quickly, examining the woman. She was naked, and abrasions around her neck eloquently told of her death, ‘Strangled, poor woman. Probably as well. This Shadow is a sick one.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ It was the voice of the barmaid, but it was changed now, darker, and far more deadly. ‘I think I work exactly to specifications.’